Neville
by Runny Ink
Summary: WARNING This is a Slash story with a pairing of Harry/Neville. It's a special day, told from Harry's POV.


One last warning: This story is SLASH. The pairing is m/m, so please do not read if homosexual romances squick you. That said, I do not own the characters in this story, they are the soul property of JK Rowling. Hope you enjoy!  
  
  
  
Yesterday was his sixteenth birthday.  
  
No one would have known if it weren't for his gran sending him that singing owl gram. A few people down and across from me, Neville's face burned with embarrassment. He suddenly went from embarrassed humiliation to embarrassed joy, though, as the entire table cheered and promised him the best birthday party Griffyndor Tower had ever seen.  
  
Luckily it was a Saturday when all third years and up could go out to Hogsmead. We were all stocking up on sweets from Honeydukes and Ron and Hermione were debating the best gift for him. Ron ended up getting him a few packs of Quidditch trading cards, each one with a player from different league teams and their stats. Hermione got him a journal that only opened for the user once properly activated.  
  
I, on the other hand, couldn't think of a thing. I hadn't really gotten to know Neville Longbottom, for all I knew of him. I ended up just buying him an assortment of candies, feeling stupid for the unimaginative gift.  
  
I think that Neville, despite the assurances at breakfast, was still surprised about the party, and all the attention he was getting. He flushed with each present he opened and I couldn't help but notice how lovely he looked each time the pink highlighted his face.  
  
It was eleven o'clock far too quickly and Professor McGonagall was standing in the common room and telling us all to pack it in. She smiled fondly at Neville and kissed his cheek as we were all hurried to our dormitories. I was surprised to find myself jealous of her. I shook my head of the odd thought and went on to bed.  
  
A half an hour later only Neville and I were the only ones awake in the dark dormitory. Soon, though, I realized he thought he was the only one. Soft sobs came from his bed, barely discernable form the other boys' snores. For a moment, I couldn't imagine why he could be sad after the day he had.  
  
Then I remembered. What Dumbledore had told me in our fourth year, what Neville himself had admitted to in our fifth. I felt so stupid and full of wonder at the same time. He and I seemed so different, but we had so much in common. Neville Longbottom was more like me than anyone else I've ever known.  
  
I crept out of my own bed and over to his, pulling aside the curtains. I whispered his name as I crawled in beside him, hoping not to startle him too much. He sat up and dried his eyes on his pajama sleeve hurriedly, muttering apologies I didn't quite get.  
  
I don't know what possessed me to pull him into my arms. My only intention was to offer an ear if he needed to talk about it to someone who understood. Who was like him. But there I was, holding and rocking him. Making shushing noises as he relaxed into my embrace and began to sob even harder, the noise muffled by my shoulder. It was a long time before he quieted.   
  
We sat there for a moment, his weight in my arms feeling comfortable and right. I knew then that I had found the person who could complete me and I wondered how I could have possibly over looked him before. I glanced down at my watch. 11:58.  
  
"It's still your birthday," I whisper into his sun drenched hair. "And I haven't given you a proper present, yet."  
  
He lifted his head, and though I could barely see him through the sliver of moonlight that filtered through a crack in the drapes, I could still see the protest forming. I didn't give it a chance to leave his mouth. I bent my head and pressed my lips to his, tasting him for the first, and what I prayed wouldn't be the last, time.  
  
He was frozen for only a second, then, to my great joy, he was returning the kiss, mouth opening beneath mine in silent invitation, arms tightening around me. His birthday was long over by the time we finally parted.  
  
"Harry." It was a sigh. No one had ever said my name like that and I wanted to hear him say it over and over again in that breathy tone. But some other night.  
  
"Sleep, Neville. I'll watch over you."  
  
And so I am. Yesterday was his sixteenth birthday. Today he's no longer alone.  
  
End  



End file.
